Ensnared

“Something happened on prom night,” I admit reluctantly. “Before the dance.”

“Let me guess. It has to do with Morpheus.”

I groan. “It was just a kiss! Why is Jeb so hurt over a stupid kiss?”

“Wait a minute.” Dad rocks back on his seat, causing the boat to bob. “You kissed that arrogant . . . ? I don’t even know how to process that.”

“Me neither.” He’d be even angrier if he knew the rest. That it wasn’t the first time. That Jeb also knows about the other kiss Morpheus and I shared in Wonderland. That I told Jeb it didn’t mean anything—a lie—then turned around and did it again . . . even though I hadn’t meant for it to go that far. Morpheus twisted the situation to his own end, like he always does.

“Morpheus is a mistake, Alyssa,” Dad continues, as if seeing my thoughts. “He’s manipulative. He has no scruples. And he’s not human.”

“Neither is Mom. Neither am I. Or Jeb, for that matter. Not anymore. Does that make you love us any less?”

The lighthouse swathes us in light and my face burns under Dad’s scrutiny. “Of course not. But love? Is that what you feel for Morpheus?”

I swallow hard. “I’m not sure. It’s all wrapped up in my loyalties to Wonderland. But there’s something real between us. Something powerful.” I sink further into my seat. “It’s complicated.”

Dad starts rowing again. “Well, I know what you feel for Jeb. And it’s simple and pure. You two have been friends since the day you met. And it grew into something more. That’s a tangible thing, Butterfly. And so rare. The best kind of love. He was pla

My eyes sting. It’s just like Jeb to do something so old-fashioned and beautiful. At least, like the Jeb I once knew.

“He did propose,” I finally manage. “I didn’t get to answer.”

“What was your answer going to be?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “But that was before . . .”

Dad looks up at the stars. “I know. Before he and Mom were taken.”

I consider correcting him, but it would lead to an interrogation I can’t face tonight.

“You’re the only one who can get through to that boy and help him find his way home,” Dad presses. “But you’ll have to let Wonderland go to do it.”

“No!” I prop my elbows on my knees and hold my head to keep it from exploding. “I’m a queen. I have responsibilities there you can’t even imagine. It’s wrong to deny that side of myself. To turn my back on a world that’s depending on me. I tried to do that . . .” I wave at everything around us. “Well, you can see how great it worked out. I’m never ru

Dad sloshes the oars harder, causing water to spritz across us. “You were human first. You have commitments there, too. People who depend on and love you. Don’t get so caught up in power and politics that you forget that. Or you’ll be doing exactly what Jeb is. Hiding from your humanity.”

Red’s fingerprint—that splitting sensation behind my sternum—punches me. I clutch my hands in my lap to keep from doubling over. “That’s not what I’m doing,” I grit out. “I’m trying to find a balance.”

“How’s that possible?” Dad asks. “Madness is the antithesis to balance. I’ve seen the other side taking over you. And frankly, it scares me. You’re drawn to the darkness, to the lawlessness. Drawn to . . .”

Morpheus.

Even if Dad doesn’t say it out loud, I hear the name echo in the silence.

“He has insinuated himself into your life,” Dad continues.

“Some could argue that Mom’s choices had a hand in that.”

The boat slams into the shore, jarring us. Anger radiates off my dad, which only feeds the sense of right rising hot inside of me.

“I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” I attempt to placate him. “I’m just saying Morpheus didn’t plan to use anyone. Not in the begi

Dad tosses the oars into the boat with a thunk. “Don’t ever accuse her of making a cavalier decision. She did the right thing even when it was difficult. Left behind a world that promised her power and immortality, all because she couldn’t stomach stealing human children for their dreams.”

“All because she couldn’t stomach leaving you as one of the stolen.” I regret the words instantly. I know it was so much more than that.

Dad shakes his head. “I’m going to forget this conversation, Allie. You’re tired and obviously not thinking before you speak.” He climbs out of the boat, wading through the shallows to pull it in.

He’s mistaken. I am thinking, proven by how I didn’t tell him the most inconceivable truth of all: That I can actually put a stop to stolen childhoods. That by having a future with Morpheus and sharing a son, I could fix everything between our worlds.

I couldn’t tell him even if I wanted to. I can’t afford to lose my powers by reneging on a life-magic vow of silence. To defeat Red, find Mom, and put Wonderland back together, I need my magic intact.

Dad secures the boat to the shore by winding its rope around a post. I clamber out before he can offer to help me.

I hate that there’s friction between us. I hate feeling so far from Jeb while he’s haunting the rooms in this mountain hideaway, facing his nightmares and heartache alone. I hate how jumbled my emotions are when it comes to Morpheus: hurting for him that he’s powerless, angry he holds a vow over my head—yet fascinated by him, endlessly.

Most of all, I hate that Mom and my netherling subjects are trapped in a crumbling Wonderland, wondering if I’ll ever come to save them.

Something nudges me on that thought . . . something quiet yet hopeful. I saw how strong Mom’s magic was on prom night; I learned how much she already knows about Wonderland’s i

I keep my thoughts to myself because they feel like hunches and I have no proof. But still, they comfort me.

Led by starlight, Dad and I climb a steep, winding stairway made of stones that leads to the lighthouse. Inside, hurricane-style lamps float along the ceiling and follow us as we move, casting a soft amber glow. The walls are stone, the floor squares of black-and-white sand—miniature versions of the dunes Jeb and I surfed across in Wonderland over a year ago. I take off my plastic boots and dig my tired toes into cool grittiness. At the top of the tower, there’s a turret bedroom with a canopied bed and an open porthole that overlooks the ocean, letting in moonlight, the sound of waves, and salty air.

Dad insists I should sleep there and opts for the couch downstairs. Back in the kitchen, we eat the dried flowers. They’re stringy, like beef jerky, but a deep golden color. The taste is sweet and waxy, reminiscent of honeycomb in the human realm. We wash the meal down with rainwater sipped from mugs made of rock-lobster shells. Dad and I are both so drained, not another word passes between us.

I duck into the bathroom to take a shower and wash my long underwear so I can lay them out in my room to dry overnight. There’s everything I could possibly need: a toilet, a razor, a toothbrush, and citrus-scented soap. On some level, Jeb is still living a human life, however he tries to deny it.

As I head toward the stairs, I stop where Dad is spreading a quilt out on the couch. Even though we’re at odds, we hug before parting ways to sleep.

In the tower, I open a wardrobe against the bedroom wall and find a plaid fla